Emerz Debra Messes Himself

Emerz has a stomach ache, stress-related, he says, Real World: Brooklyn-related, he says. He has barely touched his Applebee's Curbside.

"In the year 2009 people are getting open," says Emerz.

Recently Emerz has been surrounded by a chorus of criers, from the Bromance contestants to his parents. All he sees these days is shaking shoulders, he swears. He's buying stock in Maybelline, figuring people will be reapplying their make-up a lot more often. He personally is buying concealer by the gallon, hoping it might work to mask more than just his T-zone. He's thinking of coating his life in the forgiving goo.

"It's 2009," says Emerz, "no jokes are funny."

He's living life tightly. There's little room for error, but is there ever?

It's ladies night at Emerz' house, which means we watch Lifetime, which means we watch Frasier and Will and Grace. We all hate Grace. Something about Debra Messing makes Emerz crinkle his nose. He describes her as acrid. Whenever he sees her, he says, he smells urinal cakes. Her sculpted red mane pops onto the screen. "Ugh," says Emerz. "She might be one of those people, places and things they tell you about." I tell him to consider himself lucky. She's easy to avoid.

In a rare showing of artificial intelligence, the television tests Emerz' theory. The Wedding Date is playing on TNT. Messing offers Dermot Mulroney 6K to pretend to be her bf. "I'll give you six grand to change the channel," says Emerz. "Bon mot Mulroney," says Emerz, I assume self-referentially.